


The Things We Learn Later

by spookywoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Professors, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: It takes a few years of them both teaching at Hogwarts, but Harry eventually realises he's irrevocably in love with Draco Malfoy.Or, five times Draco Malfoy made Harry Potter sad...and one time he didn’t.





	The Things We Learn Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnowyK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyK/gifts).



> I hope you have a lovely holiday season <3
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to the mods for organising this wonderful exchange! 
> 
> **Warning:** Mild Dubious Consent that leads to a kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**// ONE...**

 

“Potter, what are you doing up here?”

Harry turns just as Malfoy stops at the end of the bench. The Quidditch Pitch is silent and empty save for the wind whipping around the stands.

“The game ended over an hour ago,” Malfoy adds. “You’re about to miss the celebrations.”

“Gryffindor lost,” Harry says flatly.

Malfoy grins. “I know.”

Gathering his thoughts, Harry stands up and stretches. He glances at Malfoy. “Sometimes when I’m watching them, I see us up there.”

“You should have your vision checked, Potter. Your seeker and Miles Beechum look nothing like us.”

“I just meant—do you ever miss it?” Harry walks up to Malfoy. He’s changed out of his black professor robes and put on a heavy grey knitted jumper, the one Harry swears makes his eyes shine a bit brighter. Harry smiles and turns away, afraid to admit that he’s cataloged most of Malfoy’s clothes, least of all that he has favorites.

“You mean flying?” Malfoy glances at the pitch. “No.”

“Really?” Harry stares at him. He can’t recall the last time he’d dusted off his broom and taken an afternoon in the open air. Merlin, he can’t even remember where he put the old Firebolt. But Malfoy’s expression isn’t one of nostalgic longing. It’s an unpleasant, bitter look, rife with tension and agitation. One typically worn by the blond when students test his patience. Harry hadn’t seen it directed toward himself in years.

“It is not as if my flying talents are missed by anyone.”

Harry scowls. “It isn’t about—who cares what anyone else thinks! Don’t _you_ miss it?”

Malfoy shakes his head and turns away.

He isn’t satisfied with the lack of an answer. Next to Harry, Malfoy was the best flyer in their time at Hogwarts, and it wasn’t just acquired skill. He had natural talent. And that’s not something one has when they don’t enjoy the act.

“I think we should go flying,” Harry suggests, smiling again.

“I think you should take a long walk off one of the enchanted staircases.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

Harry closes the space between them and grabs one of Malfoy’s arms, whirling him around so they’re eye to eye.

“We don’t have to lose our hobbies and the things that bring us joy just because we’re old, stuffy adults.”

Malfoy shrugs out of his grip and Harry lets him step away.

“Flying was a never a hobby of mine, Potter,” he says with a streak of snide disdain. “It was always competition to me. And a way for me to impress my—nevermind.”

He takes a breath and closes his eyes. Malfoy’s long eyelashes are dark lines against his pale skin, and Harry loves that they’re a shade darker than his hair, that they’re dark enough to outline his eyes. They can’t hide his emotions when the rest of his trained features reveal nothing. But when Malfoy’s lids are closed, Harry feels disconnected from him, almost as if the only way to know the other man is to dive headfirst into cold, steely grey.

As if inside Harry’s head, Malfoy opens his eyes and fixes Harry with a mildly vulnerable look. “Besides, I doubt I’ll ever find joy in the act after what transpired the last time I was on a broom.”

“Oh,” Harry says, suddenly understanding. A wave of sadness overcomes him as he realises the last time Malfoy had been on a broom must’ve been—

“The Room of Hidden Things was a long time ago,” Malfoy says, interrupting Harry’s train of thought. Malfoy sniffs the air and shakes his head, and when he glances back at Harry, he’s almost smiling. “Now if you’ll kindly return to the castle and resume your head of house duties, there are nearly a dozen Gryffindors plotting revenge despite Slytherin’s honest, well-earned victory.” He offers Harry a slight smile. “And I won’t have the dungeons flooded with dung bombs again.”

“Oh I’ve talked to them about the dung bombs,” Harry smiles, “But I know for a fact they have a collection of Portable Swamps they’ve been itching to use.”

Malfoy’s hands shoot up and pat down his hair involuntarily. “Swamps you say?”

Harry laughs. “Let’s go.”

 

**// TWO...**

 

Harry storms down to Malfoy’s office, the letter crumpled in his fist. He passes a mix of students and faculty, all of whom rush out of the way as he stomps forward, rage boiling over to the point that he’s probably turned a deep shade of Gryffindor scarlet. When he gets to the door, he foregoes knocking. Instead, he pulls out his wand and casts a hinge removal spell of his own design, then kicks down the door.

“Malfoy!”

The office is pristine and empty. Harry barges in and heads for the door connecting it to the potions classroom. He throws it open.

“Malfoy!” he bellows, rushing into the room. His eyes fall on Malfoy’s form bent over a smoking cauldron. “I swear on Slytherin’s warm, hairy bollocks I will throttle you into next Thursday if this is real!”

Glancing up, Malfoy blinks at him then reaches down and casts a Simmering Stasis on the cauldron. “Professor Potter,” he stands up straight and smiles, clapping his hands together. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Harry holds up the letter from the solicitor and tosses it at Malfoy’s feet. “This!”

Malfoy’s smirk doesn’t falter as he kicks the crumpled parchment to the side and strides forward. “Class, I think we’re in luck. Who has finished and would like to bottle a dose of their Calming Draught for Professor Potter?” Harry's eyes widen and he turns around. The room is filled with fourth-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. Malfoy adds, “It appears his nerves are in need of soothing.”

Five minutes later, Harry sits back in a leather armchair and stares at Malfoy’s desk. The git takes his time finishing up in his classroom before claiming his place on the other side of the desk. His lips are curled into a smug smile and Harry has to restrain himself from throwing himself bodily over the desk and pouncing on him.

“So Potter, what can I do for you? Oh and,” he shakes his head and fakes a frown, the mirth practically glowing in his shadowy eyes, “Belinda Smashouse will be crushed you didn’t value her skill highly enough to take her potion.” He grins again. “It will be such a shame to tell her you tossed it in the fire and called it a—”

“I called _you_ a murky piece of—”

“Really, such language in front of the students. No wonder your house is losing the cup, it must be thanks to your shining example. Two more months of this raucous behavior and—well, it’s a pity they did away with negatives points.”

“I don’t give a flying Hippogriff’s arse about the house cup, Malfoy.” Harry bites his lip. “I’m here to tell you that I won’t give up Grimmauld Place.”

Malfoy raises a brow, still smirking. “Is that so? Think you can fight my ancestral claim?”

Harry scoffs, “As if I need to. I have the law on my side. I’ve lived there sixteen years and possession is nineteen twenty-thirds of the law.”

“Ah, it _used to be._ Thanks to the new Pureblood Protection Act, I have every right to stake my claim and you don’t have a single legal tie to ownership.”

“The last living Black bequeathed it to me!”

“He wasn’t the last living Black. There’s a whole handful of us, _including_ your godson.”

“It doesn’t matter, you won’t win.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t let you.”

“And why do you care about the house so much? All you do is complain about the inlaid Dark magic and infinite layers of dust. You only stay there two months out of the year and last summer you spent more time at your beach cottage than you did at Grimmauld Place!”

Harry narrows his eyes, “How do you—”

“You sent me a note dated…” he pulls out a parchment from his top desk drawer. “Ah yes, dated July twenty-second. ‘ _Malfoy—join us for a bit of a last minute thing on the 31st? I found a bottle of your favorite chardonnay from 1992. Oh, and I’m at Pebble Cliff Cottage. Been here for weeks. The weather agrees with me. Floo around 6? Don’t say no, you need the company. Yours, HJP_.’”

“I sent you that in confidence! Not for some lawsuit!” Harry remembers how disappointed he’d been. He remembers drinking that special bottle of chardonnay by himself on his birthday. “You didn’t even visit.”

“It was the middle of the Greenwich Fungi Harvest! You can’t expect me to drop everything and—”

“It was my birthday you daft prick.”

“Yes, and I sent my apologies as well as—”

Harry throws up a hand and cuts Malfoy off. “Why do you want my house? You’ve got that big new townhome off Diagon.”

“It’s not—you didn’t spend your entire life in a home fused with magical lineage and history. The very aura of a place can soothe those it knows are kin.”

“And you can’t—what—transfer that from the Manor?”

“Why on earth would I want _that_ aura? I need something...it’s not...it hasn’t been easy for me, or for my mother.” Malfoy’s furrowed brows unfurl and the tension leaves his face. In the dim light of the dungeon, he appears weary, stressed, haggard even. “I thought that perhaps the Black Family home would—it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to explain myself to you and you’ve obviously decided against it. I’ll speak no further on the matter. The solicitors will handle it from here, please direct any future correspondence to them.”

“Malfoy.”

“Potter, please leave. I have another class due to arrive in a few minutes.”

Harry spends all night tossing and turning, unable to forget the way the lines on Malfoy’s face deepened at the slightest mention of Malfoy Manor. The place gives Harry chills; he can only imagine what it must be like for Malfoy. There must be thousands of wonderful memories tainted by years of darkness from the war. Harry wonders what effect those have on the home’s aura.

“Professor Flitwick!” Harry calls out the next morning.

“Ahh, Harry,” Flitwick smiles. “For the eight-hundred and sixty-second time, please call me Filius.”

Harry blushes, “Right. Erm—Filius. What do you know about the auras of wizarding homes?”

Flitwick’s smile deepens. “Harry, I wrote a book on the auras of wizarding residences! Would you like a signed copy?”

“Sure,” Harry nods, “but could you tell me about how they change? Or how to transfer them?” Harry follows Flitwick into his office.

“The auras change as the family changes, Harry. And it is all rooted in the foundations of the home. A good family foundation creates a good aura. But nothing is _set in stone_ ,” he laughs and Harry rolls his eyes.

“So you’re saying if bad things happen in a place, the aura can go bad?”

Flitwick’s smile fades. “What’s this about Harry?”

“Nothing really, Prof—Filius. Uh, can you tell me how someone gets connected to an aura? Is it by blood?”

“Typically, typically,” he nods, “But it can also be related to experiences. A home recognises the soul of a person who fights for it. Like you.” Flitwick smiles and points at Harry’s chest. “You and this place are inextricably bonded.”

“Here?” Harry can’t help his exasperation.

“Of course. Don’t you consider Hogwarts your home?”

“I—” Harry can’t think of what he should say. He’d never really thought about it that way before. What memories did Harry really have a Grimmauld Place? A few moments with Sirius? A few meetings of the Order? What things bonded him to the home? Not blood and certainly not experiences. “I have to go, Filius. Thanks for the help.”

Filius nods then realises Harry’s leaving without his autograph. “Wait! Your book!”

But Harry’s too busy drafting a letter to his solicitor in his head to care. He runs up to the owlery and scribbles a note. He sends it off with a sassy barn owl and falls to a heap on the floor. In a week’s time, the house would belong to Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry Floos to Grimmauld Place with Neville to pack what few belongings he has left there. Ron stops by with a bottle of firewhisky and they end up sprawled out on the sofa, limbs tangled together, sharing the bottle.

“I never liked this place much anyway,” Ron says.

“It holds a lot of memories,” Harry smiles sadly. “But that’s not a reason to keep something.”

Neville takes a swig and hands Harry the bottle. “Where’s Kreacher?”

“Out celebrating, I’d imagine.”

“When do they deliver the papers?” Ron motions for the bottle.

“Monday morning,” Harry puts the bottle to his lips but doesn’t drink. He adds, “By Wizard Courier.”

They sit in silence for a while until Harry’s stomach starts rumbling. “Shall we?” He gets up. “We can drop this stuff in my office then head to the Three Broomsticks. My treat.”

Ron shakes his head. “Sorry mate. ‘Mione has me on baby duty tonight.”

“Babies,” Neville smiles. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Don’t feel that way at the moment,” Ron yawns, shaking his head. “But I suppose you’re right.”

They say goodbye and Harry takes one last look around as he collects his final box.

“Harry,” Neville calls from the fireplace. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Harry whispers.

 

**// THREE...**

 

A terrible storm hits Hogwarts the night of the start of term feast and Harry doesn’t have time to cast an _Impervius!_ on himself. He’s too busy shielding the children from flying debris.

“Was that a merman?” Neville yells from the carriages.

“It had arms and a fin,” Harry shouts back. He thinks it was a branch, but Neville would know better than him.

The Thestrals seem to be the only ones enjoying themselves as Harry, Neville, and the Muggle Studies professor run alongside the screaming children to the front doors of the castle. The lake was too tumultuous to cross.

Minerva meets them in the entryway, takes one look at Harry, and shakes her head. “Potter, you couldn’t transfigure yourself an umbrella? A rain jacket? Your robes are soaked through.”

“I was a bit distracted with helping the children,” Harry explains.

“Well, you can’t sit through the feast like this. Even advanced drying spells won’t help sort you. Go and change your clothes.”

Harry nods, “Yes ma’am.”

He makes his way up the first staircase but stops when his hand touches something wet and warm on the banister. He lifts his fingers and squints. They’re covered in red liquid. Glancing down, he spots a trail of blood from the banister to the floor, up the steps, and around a corner to an unused corridor.

He shakes his head. Never a dull start of term feast, that’s for sure. Pulling out his wand, he makes his way up the steps, careful not to alert whatever or whomever he might encounter. He enters the dark corridor and casts _Lumos!_ Perhaps he’ll find the flying merman. Harry snickers.

“Find this funny, do you, Potter?”

“Malfoy?” Harry turns around.

Malfoy stands to the side, arms wrapped around a suit of armor for support. He’s soaking wet, dripping water and blood all over the floor. Harry rushes to his side.

“What happened? Where are you injured?” He drops his wand and starts pressing his hands to Malfoy’s body, frantically looking for the wound. “Let’s get you to Poppy.”

“Get your hands off me, you imbecile.” Malfoy grips Harry’s hands on his collar but doesn’t push them away. “I’m fine.”

Harry scowls, “You’re bleeding all over half the castle!”

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy replies, “That isn’t blood. It’s the _Essence of Kinabalu._ ”

“That oil you were going on about?” Harry remembers Malfoy mentioning it the last time he saw him. It was a once in a lifetime trip to Malaysia to harvest rare brewing supplies. Harry lets go of Malfoy and takes a step back. He glances around and that’s when he sees the broken crate in the corner. “Oh no.”

“Merlin, Potter, get out of here,” Malfoy says, and Harry thinks he might be having trouble breathing.

“You’re not alright,” Harry gets closer and inspects Malfoy again. He’s flushed and panting.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Malfoy says, then groans and doubles over.

Harry panics. “You’re clearly in pain!”

“I am not in pain!”

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ Harry casts his Patronus and sends it after Neville.

He clasps Malfoy’s robes and starts to unbutton them.

“Oh no,” Malfoy shakes his head, “Not you, too.”

“I need to see where you’re hurt, Draco,” Harry says as calmly as possible. “Let me take off your robes.”

He laughs. “You have no idea…” Malfoy’s eyes flutter closed.

Harry slaps him. “Stay with me! Merlin. Draco? Draco!”

“How is this possible,” Draco jerks awake. He’s shaking in Harry’s grip. Harry grabs his chin and Draco opens his eyes. “You’re shouting my name and we aren’t naked or trying to kill each other.”

“Draco, where are you hurt?” Harry keeps his gaze.

“Why? Are you going to kiss it and make it better?” Draco sneers, but it’s not vindictive. It’s taunting, and yet— “...Harry…” Draco moans then collapses in Harry’s arms. Harry starts to feel sick to his stomach. Malfoy’s never said his name like that before and he’s starting to really panic.

“Harry?” Neville appears at the entrance to the corridor. He looks as worried as Harry feels.

“Nev,” Harry calls out. “Something is very wrong with Malfoy!”

Neville rushes forward and stops in his tracks a few feet away from them. “Harry, what’s that smell?”

Harry shakes his head. “What smell?”

“That sweet, pungent aroma in the air?” Neville starts backing away. He glances over at the crate then down at the puddles on the ground. “Oh no…”

“Neville! Help us!”

“We have to seal this corridor, Harry,” Neville says.

Harry screws his eyes closed. He wants to yell at Neville but he can’t think. Suddenly he’s warm, _so warm,_ and he _wants._ “Neville…”

“Harry, Malfoy was extracting Rotchchild’s oil.”

“What?” Harry can’t think, the tension in his head is traveling to his chest.

“It’s this rare orchid. The oil—as an ingredient, it’s an easy substitute for so many things.”

Harry takes a deep breath. The air filling his lungs feels amazing but the pressure seems to push the tension further down his body. His chest is coiled tight but the heat is pooling in his—

“Neville…” Harry pants, unable to get enough air in his lungs to fight the whirl of sensations in his body. “On its own?”

“Harry,” Neville sighs.

“On its own?!” Harry shouts. Malfoy grabs his neck and pulls his face close.

“It’s a bloody aphrodisiac, Potter. One drop fuels hours of amorous coupling.”

Harry puts his hand to Malfoy’s chest and pushes him away. “One drop?” he screams. “There’s a whole bloody corridor filled with it!”

Harry turns around in time to see Neville cast a ward sealing off the entrance. Harry tries to stumble toward it but only manages a few steps before falling to his knees. He throws open his robes and looks down.

“Fuck me,” he mutters at his erection.

“Don’t even,” Draco groans, “talk about it. Don’t even—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK!” Harry glances over at him and sees that Draco’s turned over on his stomach. He’s rutting against the ground like his crotch was hit with a rogue _Tarantallegra_.

“Draco, stop!” Harry doubles over. The heat is too much. He has to get out of his wet clothes. He rolls on his side and starts taking off his robes. When he loosens his belt, he gets an idea. Once he has it off, he transfigures it into a cup. “ _Aguamenti!”_

The cup fills with water and Harry presses it to his lips. The cold feels good going down his throat but it doesn’t quench his thirst. It doesn’t fill his emptiness. He tries to concentrate on his breathing, but it’s taking all his willpower to keep his hands gripping the cup instead of reaching down and gripping his cock.

“What—” Harry slurs, “—kind of idiot—” He rolls over and out of his robes completely. “—brings an aphrodisiac oil—” Harry glares over at Draco. He’s stopped writhing and started crawling toward Harry. “—into a school full of children?”

Draco glares back. “Under the proper conditions, it’s harmless! Besides, It was under sex—Fuck! Six! Six different containment spells.” He stops and wipes the sweat from his brow. “The storm…”

“I saw a merman flying through the air,” Harry breathes, trying not to laugh.

“Merlin, are you hallucinating already?”

Harry chuckles, but the vibrations cause his shirt to rub against his nipples and he stops abruptly. The sensation sends a shockwave through him and he doubles over as intense pleasure coils between his legs.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Harry,” Draco pants. His eyelashes are dark, his gaze even darker. Harry can’t make out any grey beneath his blown pupils. Draco licks his lips. “Harry, you have to stay strong.”

“Strong,” Harry repeats. He closes his eyes. “Strong.” He says it again. He looks over at Draco and realizes there’s nothing more he wants in the world than the man sprawled out just a few feet from him. “I want…” Harry closes his eyes again. “I want so many things.”

“Yes,” Draco agrees. “So many. Yes, Harry.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “Not like this. _Accio Wand!_ ” Harry holds up his hand and catches it in the air. He concentrates on the Stronghold Ward, the invisible barrier spell that doesn’t allow anything in or out around the caster. The problem was they had to mean it when they cast it. And Harry’s not sure he really wants to separate himself from Draco. “It’s—not right.”

Draco’s palming himself over his trousers and Harry moans at the sight of it. His eyes are half-lidded and the twist of pleasure on his face is the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Draco says through uneven breaths. “What’s not right? My dick in your arse? Your prick in my mouth?” He rolls over again and shoves his face into Harry’s discarded robes. He inhales and then sits up. “What’s not right is how much I bloody want you. All—” he pants, “—the bloody time!”

Harry knows if Draco gets much closer, he’ll lose what little self-control he has left. He grips his wand and casts the Stronghold Ward before he loses his nerve. The shimmery, iridescent sparks shoot out of his wand and he moans. How in Merlin’s name does the ward look like a prick ejaculating?

The silvery sheen takes shape and forms a wall around Harry. When Draco lifts his head, his face turns panicked. “Potter, no.”

“Draco, this is the only way we’re going to get through this,” Harry says.

“I’ll get to _you_ ,” Draco gets on all fours and then whines, arching his back. Harry turns away. “Why?” Draco shrieks. “Why did I go to work in bloody Malaysia—when I should’ve been here—”

“It’s alright,” Harry manages to get out. He keeps his eyes closed. He has to keep concentrating on the Stronghold Ward.

Draco’s whines grow louder and Harry clenches his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Draco cries. “So fucking sorry, Harry.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says again. He thinks his fingers might fall off from the force of his grip around his wand. _His wand…_ “Merlin, my cock is going to fall off, isn’t it?”

“I should’ve—”

Harry can feel Draco pressing against the Ward.

“Draco, don’t.”

“—been there, Harry.” He moans and Harry slaps himself so he keeps his eyes twisted closed. He can’t let himself see what Draco’s doing to cause that noise to escape his sweet, perfect lips. “I should’ve been there.”

“It's alri—”

“—for your birthday.”

Harry’s eyes fly open and he drops his wand in surprise. “What?”

As soon as the shimmery barrier falls into ash between them, Draco jumps Harry and wraps his arms around his shoulders. “You thought a wall would stop me from getting to you, Harry? I always get to you one way or another.”

“Draco, no, this is—” Harry digs his fingers into Draco’s arms but can’t seem to summon the will to push him away. Draco’s body heat feels like his salvation and Harry wants to die in this fire shared between them.

Draco nuzzles into the crook of Harry’s neck and whispers, “Nothing will ever stop me from getting to you again.” He plants his legs on either side of Harry’s hips and starts grinding. Harry can’t stop the moan that escapes him as bliss overtakes every muscle in his body. He almost misses the contact when Draco pulls back and adds quietly, “You’re the only one worth coming back for.”

Harry grabs Draco’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. Their first kiss. It feels amazing...No! It feels wrong. “Can’t,” he pulls away. “Not like this. Draco, I—I’ve wanted this—”

“ _Depulso!”_ someone shouts from across the room. Before Harry can look, an invisible force pulls him up and throws him against the corridor wall. As soon as he has his bearings, he opens his eyes and sees Draco pinned to the wall across from him. Harry glances at the entrance where Neville stands, wand raised, next to McGonagall. They’re both wearing some sort of mask over their mouth and nose.

They rush inside. Neville walks up to Harry and puts a wet rag to his mouth. “Breathe in, Harry.”

Harry can feel the cool essence of an unknown sedative hitting his system within seconds. “No,” he shakes his head, but it’s slow, and he’s fading. “Draco,” he raises his eyes. But McGonagall’s already got him sedated and down from the wall, levitating him out of the corridor. “Draco,” Harry breathes and then passes out.

When Harry opens his eyes, he realises two things. First, he’s colder than he should be. Second, he’s not in the corridor on the third floor anymore.

“Welcome back, Harry.” He recognises Neville’s voice.

“Oh,” Draco says, and Harry recognises the hint of a combative tone in that short, single syllable. Harry tears his eyes away from the ceiling of the hospital wing and turns toward Draco’s voice. _Draco_ , he thinks. He’s not sure he can ever go back to thinking of him as _Malfoy._

Cool, grey eyes fall to Harry and suddenly he’s shivering in his hospital issue pyjamas.

 _Draco_ pushes off from where he was leaning against the wall and approaches Harry wearing a glare and a set of black Potions Master robes. He leans down and sneers. “The next time someone calls you an imbecile and tells you to leave them alone, I suggest you follow their advice. This whole mess could have been avoided.”

“Malfoy,” Neville warns.

“I refuse to apologise. It’s the truth.”

Neville glares at him and says, “Settle down, Malfoy. Really. If Harry hadn’t found you, your prick would be raw as a—”

“I have a class to teach,” is the sharp response before Draco turns and exits the room.

Harry’s throat is so dry he couldn’t speak even if he’d known what he wanted to say.

“Water,” he croaks.

A few glasses of water later and he’s sitting up, asking Neville to tell him everything he knows about the rare orchid that sent him and Draco into a crazed sex frenzy. Neville divulges his usual impressive array of knowledge on the subject, even going so far as to say it’s one of the most potent aphrodisiacs known to the wizarding world. “Thank Merlin it’s so rare,” he finally says.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “So it’s really the drug that makes people want to have sex with each other?”

Neville shakes his head. “No, uh...about that Harry…”

“What?”

“It doesn’t—” he looks away.

“Nev, tell me.”

He sighs. “It only makes you—it only—oh hell, Harry. It amplifies your regular sexual desires. Anyone else in there with him and it would’ve been solo wank fests.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Nev frowns.

“It’s just...”

Harry thinks about the way Draco had felt in his arms. He remembers the heat shared between them and Draco’s apology. He can’t stop the lingering desire, the yearning he has for the other man. He’s not even certain it’s just physical anymore. He remembers the way Draco stormed out, the way he glossed over what had happened to them like it was nothing but a potions mishap. Were all the jabs and taunts over the last twenty years really just a spiteful rivalry? Were all of Draco’s subtle showings of thoughtfulness just his amicable friendship? Was there truly no intent for something more? Was there truly no heat between them? The realisation that Draco might not feel the same stings in the place where passion runs deeper than mere flesh and bone.

“The way I felt—the things we said,” Harry shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to see him the same way again.”

He glances over at Neville.

“Neither will I, mate,” Neville says. “Neither. Will. I.”

 

**// FOUR...**

 

“I know you didn’t just _happen_ upon that bottle of my favorite wine. You _bought_ it for me, Potter.”

Harry drops his fork. “This again?”

“You’re a fool.”

“Draco—”

“I own the vineyard.”

“Draco—”

“That orchid rattled something loose in your head.”

Harry stands up, shoving his chair back so hard it tips over. He smacks his palm on the table. “ _You_ —” he grits, “rattled something loose in my head, you inconsiderate git! And I’d appreciate it if you’d put it back.”

He turns and stares at Draco, leveling him with the angriest glare he can muster. “You think I like being in love with _you_?” Harry shouts. He isn’t sure why, but he can’t stop himself now that’s he’s started. Draco’s been pushing his buttons for two whole months since the incident in the corridor and it’s going to end now. “You’re stone cold and infuriating and the most distracting, beautiful mess of—”

“Professors Potter and Malfoy,” McGonagall interrupts. Harry turns to the center of the faculty table and flushes, suddenly remembering where they are. The headmistress scowls and waves them away. “If you could please move this argument to a more private venue so we may finish eating in peace. That is, those of us who are still in possession of an appetite after your juvenile display.”

Harry offers her his most apologetic look and then storms out of the Great Hall without a second glance in Draco’s direction.

Two days later, he’s curled around a pint of butterbeer in his favorite booth at the Three Broomsticks when Malfoy slides into the seat across from him.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Harry mutters. He can’t meet Draco’s eyes. He’s had two shots of firewhisky already and—while it’s no Rotchchild’s orchid—it’s just enough fire to set his desire into motion.

“I, unlike _some,_ keep the promises I make.”

Harry slowly looks up over the rim of his glasses and bites his tongue.

“What’s the problem, Potty,” Draco seethes. His lips curl up at their pouty center instead of the edge, and it’s the first time in years Harry’s seen a real sneer on the other man’s features.

“You know the problem,” Harry raises a brow.

Draco looks away. “I’m sorry, it must have escaped my notice.”

“I never promised you anything,” Harry shakes his head, “except honesty.”

“And you _honestly_ had to tell Neville Longbottom that I sucked you off in the Greenhouse?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “He asked why we were there!”

“You couldn’t wait to tell him,” Draco asserts. “You couldn’t wait to—”

“He figured it out for himself. I’m pretty sure seeing me with my pants around my ankles and you with dirt all over your knees played a large part in his deducing the truth.”

Draco sets his black leather gloves on the table and crosses his arms. “You think you have such a smart mouth.”

Harry nods, “Yes, well, you seem to like it.”

“I don’t like it,” Draco frowns. “This was a mistake.”

He stands up and bolts out of the pub. Harry’s eyes fall to his gloves. He grabs them and runs after Draco, but by the time Harry reaches the street, Draco’s nowhere to be found. He runs back in, pays his tab, grabs his jacket, and starts his lonely walk back to the castle. He’s halfway up the stairs to his chambers when someone pulls his hand and jerks him into an alcove.

“Shh,” Draco whispers against Harry’s temple. He runs his hands over Harry’s chest and leans in for a kiss. He devours Harry, leaving him breathless, hard as a rock, and barely able to form coherent thoughts. “Hmm, yes, I don’t like your mouth,” Draco says against Harry’s lips. “ _I love it._ ”

Harry moans and Draco drops to his knees. “Fuck.”

“We have to stop meeting like this, Harry,” Draco smiles up at him.

“You’re the one that—ahh!”

Draco unzips Harry’s flies and pulls out his aching cock. “You were saying?”

“I—” Harry’s eyes fly open and he reaches up and pinches himself. “I can’t do this.” He hurriedly closes his trousers and pushes Draco to the side.

“You can’t _what_?”

“I can’t do this with you anymore,” Harry explains. “Whatever _this_ even is!”

“It’s called fellatio, Potter.”

“This is not what I meant when I said I wanted to start seeing you. You want this to stay hidden and secret. I can’t do that anymore.”

Draco rises to his feet and presses a finger to Harry’s chest. “Then I can’t do _this_ anymore.”

Harry goes two weeks without seeing Draco. Neville tells him that the house-elves take him breakfast every morning and supper every night. When McGonagall asks Harry what he did to upset Draco, he scowls and then schools his face into a neutral expression. “Nothing,” he admits. “I didn’t do a single thing.”

It’s only when they accidentally run into each other in the owlery that Harry takes a stand.

“Are you going to ignore me forever?”

Silence.

“Draco, _please._ ”

“Oh hello, Potter.”

Harry loses it. “Stop acting this way! It’s childish!”

“What’s childish,” Draco grits, “Is your silly idealism.”

“It’s not silly.”

“You think because we had a moment of sex hazed madness in a corridor that we’re going to—”

Harry steps forward. “This has nothing to do with that! I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for ages. _Years,_ Draco.” Harry turns away and cards a hand through his hair. “I love you so much it keeps me up at night.”

“That’s your cock, Potter.”

“Draco,” Harry turns and sends him a meaningful look. “You know the way we reacted to that stuff wasn’t normal. You know there’s something here between us.”

For a moment, Harry swears he sees something like hope flash in Draco’s eyes. But his features quickly turn back into a scowl. “Yes, well...Thank Circe we are not the sum of our carnal desires.”

Harry blinks. “Is that what this is to you?”

Draco leans forward. “There isn’t a _this_.”

“Whatever,” Harry turns away. He wipes his hand down his face hoping he can stop himself from crying. “If that’s how you really feel, then I will leave you alone.”

“Good,” is all he hears.

Before he realises it, he’s stayed standing alone up there for almost a half an hour, staring off into empty space. As soon as Draco’s words sink in, Harry’s overcome with a shiver. He’s suddenly very cold. There’s some chasm in his chest, aching more and more with every breath he takes. He walks back to his chambers in a daze, then lies on his bed and stares listlessly at the ceiling. He feels utterly broken and devastatingly empty as the hope he’d been clinging to slowly evaporates into nothing.

 

**// FIVE...**

 

Harry finishes wrapping his gifts and pours himself a finger of firewhisky. It’s one of the first holiday seasons he’s managed to get all his gifts purchased early, and he’s feeling quite accomplished. He finishes off his drink and grabs Neville’s gift, eager to find his friend and give him his new pair of dragonhide gloves.

As he passes students and faculty on his way to the greenhouse, he’s made uncomfortable by the enthusiastic nods and praise they send his way. His book _The Five Things I Learned About Life From Being An Auror_ hit the _Prophet’s_ bestseller list within hours. He’s been credited with inventing three new spells, heralded as the next great wizarding philosopher, and bullied by his publisher into writing a follow-up by February.

He had only wanted to explore his own feelings, to understand what was going on inside him and find a way to fix it. Before he’d realised what he’d been doing, he had half a draft sitting in front of him.

“Hey Harry,” Neville calls out. Harry smiles and approaches the large pile of potting soil Neville’s just brought in. His hands are buried in dirt. “Repotting for the new year,” he says.

“Need help?” Harry eyes him. He sets the present on a nearby workbench and begins rolling up his sleeves. He knows repotting the greenhouse is an arduous and time-consuming task.

Neville smiles. “If it’s offered freely, then yes.”

Harry quirks a brow. “Offered freely?”

“No strings attached?”

“Ah,” Harry laughs and remembers the Muggle Studies professor’s attempts to get Neville under the mistletoe in the faculty lounge. “No, just two friends getting dirty.”

Neville eyes him and then shakes his head. “Put on an apron then.”

They set to work on the main bed. Harry finds it relaxing. Neville chats about his plans for the other areas of the greenhouse, and his voice is almost soothing in its familiarity. Harry doesn’t even realise Neville’s asked him a question until he hears a change in his tone, followed by, “Harry? Are you listening?”

“What?” Harry pulls his hands out of the soil.

“I asked what you were doing for Christmas.”

“Oh,” Harry nods and shakes the dirt off his gloves. “Just the usual. Stop by Godric’s Hollow and then head to the Burrow.”

“Not to Grimmauld Place, then?” Neville says casually.

Harry furrows his brows, confused. “Why on earth would I go there?”

Neville stares at him then shakes his head. “I thought—well, it’s just—” He glances away. “I read the end of your book. I thought it meant you and Malfoy were…”

“The end of my book?” Harry asks, still confused.

“Something about finding meaning in the love around you. Cherishing moments and being honest,” Neville’s almost reciting it as if he’d memorized it.

“That was about my time in the Aurors,” Harry says quickly. “It has nothing to do—it’s not what you’re thinking.”

Neville nods. “Sure.”

Harry starts to wonder how much Hermione had actually edited the final draft. He never looked at it again. He just blindly agreed to let her publish it after she’d said, “This will change people’s lives, Harry.”

“Really, Nev.”

They change the subject and work for another hour before Harry excuses himself and heads back to his chambers. He tears off his clothes and makes for the bath, but before he leaves his room, his eyes land on the messy piles of papers on his desk.

Beneath the term papers and correspondence, in a neat and tidy pile wrapped in red ribbon like a gift, sat his first draft. Written in his own scribbled hand, Harry had poured his heart out on those pages. Suddenly he gets an idea. He throws on his professor robes and grabs the manuscript. He’s not sure if he’ll get another chance before the new year, or if he’ll ever work up the nerve again, so he makes his way down to the dungeons and knocks on Draco’s door before he can talk himself out of it.

The door opens and he walks inside to find the office empty.

“If you’re here to beg for a higher grade, please,” Draco calls out from the adjoining classroom. “Think carefully on how you think bribery looks in all capital letters on your permanent record.”

Harry smiles as Draco’s voice stirs a wave of fondness, nostalgia, and sadness within him. He sets the bundle of parchment on the tidy desk and quietly creeps out of the room, shutting the door behind him and heading back to his chambers. He takes a bath and then his dose of Dreamless Sleep and closes his eyes thinking of blond hair and long, dark lashes.

He startles awake to the echoes of someone pounding on his door.

“Harry!”

Bolting upright, Harry throws himself out of bed and rushes to the door. “What?”

Neville stands in his doorway in his pyjamas holding a burlap sack and displeased expression.

“What’s going on, Nev?” Harry yawns. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“ _This_ was left outside my door,” he shoves the bag in Harry’s face then pulls a red envelope from his breast pocket. “And _this_ was with it.”

He opens the Howler. It shrieks, “Mind your own bloody business, Longbottom! You thought I wouldn’t know it was you? There are soil stains all over the front cover.”

“That’s Draco,” Harry says aloud, suddenly quite awake.

“Whatever is going on between the two of you, I wish you’d keep me out of it.”

Harry opens the sack and takes in the hundreds of small pieces of shredded parchment. “Oh.”

“Good night, Harry,” Neville says and walks away. “Hope that wasn’t something important.”

Harry calls back an apologetic good night and closes his door. He sits on his bed and stares into the bag. He’d poured the contents of his heart into that manuscript and now it looks like how his heart feels. “Fantastic,” he mutters, before lying down and curling up in a ball to cry.

 

**...ONE \\\**

 

“Harry, what’s this?” Hermione gives him a quizzical look and holds up the burlap sack.

Harry purses his lips. “Oh, that? Erm—that’s my manuscript.”

Her eyes widen. “Harry…”

“It got shredded...somehow.”

“I can fix it,” she offers. “I know a spell. It will be mended by the time we get back from the Burow.”

“What’s that?” Ron says eyeing the bag as he enters Harry's chambers.

“One of Harry’s students shredded his lesson plans,” Hermione says quickly. “I’ll set them to rights.”

Ron frowns. “What an arsehole! The student, not you. You’re lovely.”

Hermione smiles. “How’s Minerva?”

“The same as ever. Says she doesn’t like my goatee.”

Harry laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “Nobody does mate. Nobody does...”

Ron rolls his eyes. “I’m starved and I think mum’s been alone with the kids too long. Shall we go?”

“Honestly Ron,” Hermione says as they walk to the fireplace. “You act as if she didn’t raise you all on her own.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried about her! I was worried about them!”

Hermione slaps his arm then turns to Harry. “You two go on first, I’ll be there as soon as I finish this mending spell.”

Harry gets lost in the merriment while surrounded by his friends and family. He enjoys the food and company he only gets to experience a handful of times a year. Everyone brings a copy of the book for him to sign and they all want to talk his ear off about the spells he’s created and the criminals he implemented them against. He’s surprised when it’s Percy who approaches him as the evening winds down and asks to talk about the final chapter.

“The final chapter?” Harry asks, his mind hazy from too much food and laughter.

Percy scoots closer to him on the sofa. “You talk about realising how everyone is different and our expectations for ourselves shouldn’t be dictated by the feelings of others.”

Harry blinks. “Is that what I said?”

“You imply it,” Percy laughs. “You really helped me figure out some of the things that had been weighing on me for decades.”

“Oh?” Harry thinks back to the bits about expectations. He’s fairly certain he’d been referring to pureblood traditions. He supposes with the edits Hermione made no one could tell he was only talking about Draco.

Percy smiles. “Harry, it was great. I can’t tell you how many people you’ve reached with your words.”

“That’s great,” Harry fakes a smile back. _Everyone but the person it was intended to reach._

The night wears on and he says his goodbyes, cradling an armful of packages and leftovers in a tin. “Goodnight Molly, thank you again.”

“Oh, Harry! Please come see us before the Easter hols.”

“I’ll try,” he smiles.

Back in his chambers, he unloads his gifts and carefully puts them away. He glances over and sees the shredded parchment now in a neat stack of whole pages on his desk.

“Hermione, you’re bloody brilliant,” he whispers and walks over. He picks up the stack and casually flips through the pages. He thinks of Percy’s admission earlier and decides to grab the last chapter and read it through again.

He flips through to the end and then stops. He flips through again but slower. The last chapter isn’t there. It’s completely gone.

“Draco.” Harry flings the pages at the desk and rushes to the fireplace. He tosses in a handful of Floo powder and shouts, “12 Grimmauld Place.”

“Master Potter,” Kreacher frowns.

Harry nods. “Hello, Kreacher.” He peers around the kitchen. “Is Draco home?”

Kreacher scowls. “Master Draco is entertaining guests, Master Potter.”

“I need to speak to him,” Harry pushes through and walks down the hall. He hears voices coming from the sitting room. Women’s laughter and a child shouting. He recognises the shouting.

Harry peers around the archway and sees Teddy playing exploding snap with Draco. At first, Harry’s overcome with warmth and pride at seeing his godson so carefree and happy. But when his eyes travel over to Draco, laughing and raking his fingers through his hair, Harry is transfixed. He stands there mesmerized by the twinkle in Draco’s eyes, the lighthearted and easy smile on his lips, and the smooth and relaxed lines of his face. He looks like a completely different person. Was this what the aura of a family home did for him?

“Harry!” Andromeda appears in front of him and grabs him by the arm. “Please, won’t you come in?” Andromeda whisks him into the room. Harry can feel Draco’s gaze boring into the back of his head. “Cissy, look who showed up.”

Narcissa Malfoy sits relaxed on the edge of the worn velvet sofa Harry remembers so well from when it had been his house. He pauses for a moment and wonders at the change in the Malfoys—had it ever really been his house? He’d never felt anything like this when he’d lived there. He smiles at Narcissa and she returns it with a wide, radiant grin. Like her son, she seems relaxed and content. Harry barely recognises her. The last time he’d seen her had been at Lucius’ parole hearing. It had been almost four years but the woman smiling in front of him is completely transformed.

“Harry, welcome home,” she says. She looks at her sister. “I thought you said he was going to the Weasleys for Christmas dinner.”

“I’ve just come from there,” Harry explains.

Narcissa raises a brow. “How are Molly and Arthur?”

Harry blinks, a bit taken aback, but the use of their first names. Andromeda squeezes his arm and joins Teddy at the card table.

“They’re...busy.” Harry says, “Lots of grandchildren.”

She dips her head and glances Teddy’s way. “It must be magical.”

“Harry!” Teddy rushes forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist.

“You act as if we didn’t just see each other last week at school,” Harry smiles.

Teddy rolls his eyes. “It’s not the same.”

They catch up for a few minutes and Teddy shows him the new Nimbus Featherlight that cousin Draco got him for Christmas. Harry mildly wonders if Draco’s pushing Teddy to be a Seeker.

“Potter.”

Draco walks by and sits on the sofa beside his mother. He lifts his chin and offers Harry a slight smile. “Come to wish Teddy Happy Christmas?”

“I erm—didn’t realise he’d be here.”

Draco raises a brow.

Harry shakes his head. “I came to…” He doesn’t know quite how to say _throttle you until you give me my pages back_ in front of mixed company, so he shrugs. “To get those pages you borrowed from me.”

“Pages, I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.”

“Draco, dear, he’s come all this way,” Narcissa says.

Harry smiles, “He’s borrowed some of the original pages of my manuscript.”

“Your book?” Narcissa’s face lights up. “I quite enjoyed it.” Draco pales. “Andromeda and I compared notes.” She smiles. “I particularly loved the chapter on curse breaking and sexuality.” Her eyes light up as she adds, “And of course the last chapter.”

“Yes.” Harry glances at Draco. He’s staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his mother. Harry says, “The last chapter was very special to me as well.”

Narcissa looks from Harry to her son and back again. “Well, I am delighted that you were finally able to throw off the shackles of expectations that had no business being pinned on you.”

Harry nods. “I only wish others could find it within themselves to do the same.” Draco’s grey eyes stare up at Harry in dark and arresting, full of disquiet.

“Draco, why don’t you get him those pages and while you’re up,” Narcissa narrows her eyes as she smiles, “I’m sure he’s curious to see what changes we’ve made since he bequeathed ownership to me.”

Draco’s head snaps. “You said it was settled in court!”

“Did I?” Narcissa sips her wine. “You must have misunderstood me.”

“Come on, Potter,” Draco says with very little enthusiasm. He rises and stalks out of the room faster than Harry can nod and thank Narcissa. Harry goes up the stairs out of habit and finds Draco loitering outside one of the larger bedrooms.

Draco spots Harry and frowns. “You’ve some nerve showing up here on Christmas demanding mythical pages.”

“One: apparently I was invited,” Harry presses forward. “And two: I know you took the last chapter of my manuscript.”

“That’s preposterous!”

Harry grins. “You sent the howler to the wrong person.” Draco’s eyes go wide and Harry continues, “I’m the one who left the manuscript in your office. I wanted you to read it.”

Draco quickly composes himself. “Why would someone rather lose their eyesight squinting at your talon scratch when they could pick up your book at Flourish and Blotts? Not that _I_ would.”

“Because my handwritten manuscript wasn’t supposed to be a novel,” Harry takes another step forward. “It was written to you.” Draco’s face flattens and he stares back at Harry, blinking back what looks like tears. His breath goes ragged and Harry closes the distance between them. “Draco, I meant every word of it.” He cups Draco’s pale face in his tan fingers.

“You’re acting as if the way the I treated you doesn’t matter.”

“You were doing what was best for your family. I understand that.”

“Can you?” Draco pulls away. “My feelings for you and what is best for my family...the two are mutually exclusive.”

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Harry says. “And I don’t think your mother agrees either.”

Draco turns around. “Why did you give up the house? After you made such a fuss?”

Harry bites his lip. “I considered what you said, and realised my home and my aura were at Hogwarts. And after seeing you and your mother here, it’s obvious this place means more to your family than it ever did to me. I think did the right the thing.”

“I’m not so sure my aura is tied to this place.”

“Draco, you seem happier than I’ve seen you look in _years._ ”

Draco grabs his hand and leads Harry into the nearest bedroom. He recognises it, but it hardly seems the same. It’s lighter, airier, clean and tidy, filled with soft, muted greys and subtle hints of blues and greens. It reminds Harry of Draco. They stop in front of an old antique desk. Draco opens the top drawer and pulls out the dozen or so pages of the manuscript. He’s even used the red ribbon to weave a binding on the edge.

“I spent all morning reading this,” Draco laughs half-heartedly. “If my aura is anything, it’s blooming from the love and sentiments expressed within these pages.”

“Draco, I still feel the same,” Harry points to the manuscript. “I’m not sure my feelings will ever change.”

Draco pulls Harry close and embraces him. “Good,” he whispers. “Because I think my home is you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you daft git,” he breathes, “You’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”

 

**...THE END \\\**

 


End file.
